


the soul on your skin

by budapestagain



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Domestic, First Kiss, Getting Together, Multi, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 23:11:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16417823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/budapestagain/pseuds/budapestagain
Summary: Everyone is born with a tattoo related to your soulmate. Not everyone is happy about it.a series of one-shots (each chapter can be read as a stand alone) about soulmates.





	the soul on your skin

Hoster Tully could have wept with joy when his daughter was born and her soul mark was a wolf that twisted round her wrist and napped on the palm of her hand. Cat grew up with her quiet wolf, as she called him but when the Starks sent a raven announcing their visit to Riverrun, she fled to the old godswood that no-one used and wept. Her wolf liked it amongst the trees, she could feel him running across her shoulders, skin tingling as he went, but she was not comforted.

    Petyr came to find her, a little time after. He’d never shown his own soul mark to her or Lysa, but Lysa was convinced it was a little red fish, or perhaps a blue one, to show her red hair and blue eyes. “He will be your soulmate,” Petyr had said, in his quiet way. “Won’t you love him?”

   “I’ll have to leave home,” she said mournfully. “And what if we’re wrong? What if it isn’t a Stark, but a wolf-tamer in Volantis? It might not be Brandon or Eddard.”

   “But it might be.” Petyr looked at her and she looked back at him but she moved when he inched forward. The godswood whispered around them, and in this place, her wolf snarling on her shoulder, she did not trust him. The distrust disappeared as quickly as it came and she sighed.

   “I suppose I will have to find out,” she said, and he inclined his head, smiling.

   “I suppose you will.”

 

 

_Brandon Stark._

  She was to marry Brandon Stark and she couldn’t be happier. She’d kept quiet about her soul mark, as had he, but she’d seen the way he’d looked at her and then whispered to his brother, Eddard. Surely her quiet wolf was him and they were _betrothed_. He was handsome, and the heir to Winterfell, and funny, and charming, too. He was wickedly wild, in his own way, and had even sneaked up to her chamber that night, after the feast, to give her a dozen wild flowers. _My brother insisted_ , he’d said with a smirk, and she’d laughed, and kissed him lightly on the cheek. He’d looked surprised but he’d blushed pink all the same and darted away with a grin.

  Then the war began and Brandon died and Catelyn Tully was wed to his brother.

   Her grief must have made her a despairing bride, but she couldn’t help but sit in her beautiful grey and white gown and sob, before her father came in, dried her tears and walked her to meet Eddard Stark.

   _He’s the wrong brother_ , she thought bitterly, and her wolf curled around her neck, just above the collar of her dress. Eddard’s eyes darted from her neck to his hand and he blushed, but the second she glanced at his hand, his mark disappeared back under his sleeve. She said the words, as did he, and he gave her the Stark cloak and they ate and drank and smiled politely at every well-wisher but she couldn’t bring herself to be happy about it.

   Eventually, the guests called for a bedding ceremony and dread settled in her stomach. Stripped naked, forced to have sex with this cold, solemn man…she felt bile rise in her throat. _The wrong brother_ , she thought, again, remembering Brandon’s chaste sweet kisses before he went to war and never returned. _May the Maiden give me strength, and the Mother, too. And the old gods_ , she supposed, who were a part of her, as the Starks now were.

   “Enough!” Eddard called out when the cries for a bedding became too loud and raucous. “There will be no bedding ceremony tonight,” he added. For a second, she was afraid – the guests were silent – but then Eddard smiled slightly at her. “My new wife will not begin our marriage being stripped by a load of drunken fools.”

   Catelyn smiled, and the Northerners laughed. They were a strange lot, but all loyal and quite willing to leave the bedding ceremony alone.

   “Aye, should we strip you, then, Lord Stark?” “The Greatjon Umber shouted, followed by more laughter. Cat giggled into her hand and Ned’s smile grew even fonder.

    “I think you would enjoy that more than you let on, my lord,” Eddard said. “Please, drink, and be merry. I should like to enjoy my wife’s company _alone_.”

   The conversation turned back to shouts and yelled stories and hands slamming on tables in laughter and Cat’s smile turned sour. She stood, nonetheless, and held her head high as she followed Eddard out of the room and up to his chambers. Her chambers, now. They were warm, lit by a great roaring fire in the hearth, and spacious, larger than her rooms at Riverrun. She imagined growing old there, going to bed every night with her lord husband, nursing her children in that room, and one day, seeing them wed. The thought made her want to weep. For Brandon and all that they had lost.

   “My lady,” Eddard said quietly and she turned to face him. “If you do not want to…”

   “We must,” she replied. “You’re going to war in a few days. Going South.” She stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Her wolf nestled itself into her collarbone. “We must produce heirs. It is our duty.”

   “I will not rape for duty,” Eddard said, and he sounded like Brandon then. “If you do not want me in your bed tonight…”

   “Then will I want you there tomorrow? A woman’s mind will not change overnight, my lord,” she told him. “We will do this tonight, and tomorrow, we will do it again. Until I grow strong with child and give you a son.”

   “Or a daughter,” he said and she smiled. She would like a daughter, too. “And do not call me _my lord_.”

  “Then, Eddard…”

   “Ned.” He held her gaze and bent down to kiss her softly, gently, and she felt something like yearning in her stomach. He was handsome and sweet and patient. So unlike Brandon and yet she kissed him back.

   “Call me Catelyn, then,” she said, breathlessly, when he pulled away.

   “Catelyn.” He looked uncertain for a moment but she unlaced her dress, slowly, but surely, until the uncertainty faded and he smiled at her wolf. He touched it and it seemed to lean into his touch – _she_ leaned into his touch.

   A few moments later, he took his hands away and stripped off his own layers, until his chest was bare, and she could see the blue and red fish swimming on his ribs. He looked up at her, and she let out a little laugh of surprise.

 _Oh_ , she thought. _The wrong brother? Perhaps not_.


End file.
